


Graceland

by ColebaltBlue



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 06:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColebaltBlue/pseuds/ColebaltBlue
Summary: Archie Kennedy's dying wish is to kiss Horatio Hornblower.  Kissing William Bush and then making him promise to kiss Horatio is basically the same thing, isn't it?





	Graceland

**Author's Note:**

> For Sanguinity who has the patience of a saint because I actually finish the initial draft of this story a whole year ago and then proceeded to sit on it and all of her edits despite her pleas, threats, and promises. But now it's done. Working title: _Whoring Myself for an Audio Drama_ because every time I'd write some of this story she'd gift me a Dr. Who audio drama.

_ **Kennedy** _

Archie Kennedy had the easy confidence of a man who had always got his way through his good looks, his charm, or his money. Or a liberal application of all three. What Archie wanted, Archie almost always got. Bush would resent the man if he weren't so damn nice. 

It was clear from the moment that Bush first saw Kennedy smile at Horatio Hornblower across the wardroom table that Kennedy wanted Hornblower. It was also clear the moment after that when Hornblower blushed and smiled bashfully at the compliment that he had no idea of Kennedy's interest. And then the moment after that, it was clear that Kennedy knew that Bush knew and that Kennedy had taken the measure of William Bush right then and there. 

It didn't take long for Kennedy to catch Bush alone one day and make an offer, but William Bush had been saying no to men like Archie Kennedy his whole life. Sodomy was a hanging crime, but men like Kennedy never hanged for it. However, men like Bush, who lacked the advantages of the Kennedys of the world, did. So William Bush learned to fuck whores and not men, no matter how much he wished for the opposite. 

Kennedy took the rejection well, with a smile, laugh, and raised his hands in surrender and that had been that. Bush was relieved and grateful, because as he quickly learned, if he wanted to be friends with Hornblower, then Kennedy was part of the bargain. Before long, he was surprised to find that the three of them had formed an easy friendship and that he was half in love with Hornblower himself. 

The few days in the prison hospital were a blur for Bush. He had been delirious with fever and pain after the surgeon had put fifty-three stitches into the nine wounds that crossed his torso where the Spanish blade flayed him open. But his fever had passed and he had grown stronger while Kennedy had simply lingered. It didn't take a surgeon to realize that Kennedy's wound would be fatal and it was only a matter of a few more days before the infection would take him. 

As soon as he could stand it, Bush had pushed himself up and shuffled over to collapse in a chair next to Kennedy's bed. He had reached for Kennedy's hand and had stroked it as he would a woman's. Kennedy had smiled as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

The doctor kept them well appraised of the progress of the court martial, and when Kennedy had heard that Pellew was one of the sitting judges he had nearly passed out in relief. 

"Horatio and I served under him. Horatio was his favorite, and Pellew gave him his first command and promotion to acting lieutenant," Kennedy had reassured Bush and patted him weakly on the hand. "Horatio will survive this, you will survive this, the both of you. Of that, I have no doubt."

"And us? We may not be in the docket, but we're before the judges as well."

Kennedy snorted. "I hardly see how the outcome of the trial will have any bearing on my future."

Bush had smiled at Kennedy, but wasn't cruel enough to give him any false assurances that Kennedy would survive as well. Kennedy had smiled his appreciation at the kindness. 

The days were long and boring in the hospital and Bush had taken to reading aloud to Kennedy whether or not he was conscious to hear it. When he was doing well, Kennedy would tease Bush, but when he would toss and turn from fever with a grimace on his face, Bush would put the book down and wipe him down with a cool cloth. It seemed to bring him some comfort.

"William?" Kennedy said. Bush started in surprise. He hadn't realized that he was was awake. Bush placed the book down carefully and rose slowly from his bed. It was easier to shuffle the few feet to Kennedy's side and settle himself in the chair now. Kennedy's infection was getting worse. It wouldn't be long now. He might not even survive the end of the court martial.

"Yes, Archie?" he asked, reaching for Kennedy's hand.

"Promise me you'll take care of Horatio." 

Bush dropped his head and bit back a sad smile. He had promised Kennedy this very thing three times already today, reassuring him every time that he would, without a doubt, take care of Hornblower.

"Of course," he said. 

"I know you care for him, as I do." 

"I do," Bush assured him. This too was familiar territory. 

Kennedy gasped in pain, stiffening and breathing hard through clenched teeth.

Bush wet the cloth and stroked it over his head and shoulders.

"We could have had fun, you and I," Kennedy said, with a fleeting grin that was chased away quickly by another grimace. Bush couldn't help but smile gently in return. 

"No doubt," he agreed.

"He likes you, you know." 

"I feel honored to have his friendship, Mr. Kennedy." Bush said softly. They were in new territory now.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"I'm afraid our mutual friend has no experience with what you meant and that his regard for me, for both of us, is nothing but firm friendship and honorable intentions," Bush replied.

Kennedy let out a strangled sort of sound and Bush was horrified to realize he was attempting to laugh. Bush shushed him gently.

"I should have liked to kiss him. I have to admit I'm a bit sad I'll never have the chance."

Bush froze at the bold statement and looked hard at the door. Kennedy was barely speaking loud enough for him to hear. His words were coming on breaths in between gasps of pain. The Marine sentry outside the thick walls and closed door likely couldn't hear a single word, but that didn't stop the panic.

"Oh stop, Bush. Don't deny yourself, not when there are men such as Hornblower in the world. Don't deny him. He may call it respect or admiration or appreciation for your seamanship, but the poor boy is half gone on you and he doesn't even know it."

Bush looked down at Kennedy's face, surprised to see his eyes open, clear, and firmly fixed on Bush. He didn't insult Kennedy by offering another denial or deflection. Kennedy knew Hornblower far better than he did. Bush may still believe that he was wrong, but he wouldn't argue with him about it. 

"Promise me you'll kiss him."

He shook his head. "You're mad, the fever's gotten to you, next you'll be telling me you know who pushed Sawyer."

Kennedy smiled and shook his head slowly. "Not mad, you idiot, but promise me."

Bush shook his head.

"You don't strike me as the kind of man who breaks his promises, Mr. Bush. Promise me."

But Bush shook his head again and patted Kennedy's hand softly.

That night, Dr. Clive came to visit and Kennedy hatched his plan to save Hornblower from the rope. Bush listened to the plan. He thought it was just as unlikely to succeed as Hornblower's plan to capture the guns had been. But he had learned a lot these last weeks about fools and their plans. Kennedy was a fool and this was a plan. He'd already followed one fool's plan, and given how long Kennedy had known Hornblower, he was willing to go along with it for lack of any better alternative and even agreed to help Kennedy wash and dress in the morning so that he could make his way to the courtroom. It was a brave thing that Kennedy was doing, one that Bush would have happily done himself, had their roles been reversed.

The next morning, Kennedy woke while it was still dark out, and Bush rose to sit by his side until it was time to rise to get dressed. He found that he was healing well, still sore, but he would be strong enough to leave as soon as the court martial was over. 

"Bush," Kennedy said, softly. "Promise me."

Bush considered pretending he had no idea what Kennedy was talking about. Or simply promising him without saying anything else and pretending he was making a promise about something else. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. 

"Archie, it's not that simple."

"Kiss him for me, then, if not for yourself."

Bush shook his head again. 

"Please? I will never have the chance. Kiss me so that I might some day kiss him through you." 

Bush looked up at the desperate plea and locked eyes with Kennedy in the flicker of the candle light. The word was plaintive and Bush found he could not say no to it. He raised Kennedy's hands to his lips and brushed them over his knuckles, once, twice, three times.

Kennedy smiled. 

"Kiss me," he whispered.

Bush carefully laid Kennedy's hand back on the bed and then leaned slowly over him. He raised his hand to Kennedy's jaw and stroked it gently with his thumb as he cupped it with his fingers. 

"For Horatio, then," he whispered just before he pressed his lips softly to Kennedy's. He had intended it to be a simple kiss, just this side of friendly, nothing more, something he could pass on to Hornblower and then pass off as a dying man's affection for his dear friend. But then he couldn't. 

Kennedy gasped and opened his mouth, tongue sweeping against Bush's lips with purpose. Bush answered in kind, deepening the kiss, holding Kennedy steady as he closed his eyes and kissed him. He kissed him as he wished he was kissing Hornblower. He kissed him as if he was Horatio kissing Archie the way Kennedy wished he was kissing Horatio. He kissed him the way he was terrified he never get to kiss another man in his life. He kissed him with love. 

He broke the kiss, but stayed there, lips softly brushing Kennedy’s, thumb stroking his jaw, breath softly gusting. He felt the burn of tears in his eyes and the heavy lump in his throat. Kennedy’s heartbreak was showing on his face. 

Kennedy took a breath. 

“Don’t,” Bush whispered brokenly. He couldn’t bear to hear an easy joke fall from Kennedy’s lips after the moment they had just shared. 

Kennedy pressed his lips together and Bush could see the quiver in his jaw. Bush sat up slowly, fingers trailing against Kennedy’s jaw before he reached for his hand again. A tear slipped from Kennedy’s closed eyes and rolled slowly down his temple into his blonde hair. 

“I promise,” Bush said, roughly. “I promise, Archie. I promise.”

Archie nodded once, swallowed hard, and then turned his head away. Bush rose and went back to his bed. In a few hours it’d be time to help Kennedy dress and prepare for the courtroom with Dr. Clive. Bush wished, more than anything, that he could give Archie what he wanted and hoped that what he was able to give him would be enough.

* * *

_ **Hornblower** _

Hornblower looked utterly miserable, but Bush couldn't help the grin that nearly split his face when Hornblower told him the news of his promotion. He somehow managed to look even more miserable at Bush's obvious enthusiasm and joy.

"Congratulations, Hornblower!”

The two of them had met ashore, agreeing to walk together to the Harbor Master's office to arrange supplies. Bush as the first lieutenant under the Renown’s new captain, Cogshill, and Hornblower as the Retribution’s captain. Ordinarily such work could fall to the Retribution's Master, but extra sailors and crew were hard to come by in Kingston and none had been found for the Retribution yet. Not even a master's mate had been found yet — the duties to requisition the ship for its trip back to England fell to its captain. 

Hornblower had broken the news of his promotion to Bush right away, and now they walked slowly up the quay. Bush was hardly surprised though. Hornblower had both been the mastermind of the assault on the fort at Samaná and the one who saved the Renown from the uprising by the prisoners. After Kennedy had taken the blame for Sawyer and Buckland had proven to be an embarrassment at best in front of a court martial headed by someone who thought of Hornblower as a son, then it was only natural Hornblower should find himself the recipient of a field promotion and with the responsibility of taking a newly acquired ship back to England. 

"I'm junior to you, it should be you." Hornblower slowed to a halt and looked down at his feet before continuing very quietly. "It could have been Archie."

The smile fell from Bush's face as he thought of Archie Kennedy and the promise he had made to the dying man. The promise he wanted desperately to not have to keep. The promise to deliver Archie's kiss to Hornblower. 

But he managed to bring some approximation of the smile back before Hornblower looked up again. Bush took Hornblower's arm and urged him forward again.

"Kennedy was a good lieutenant. A good officer and a solid colleague, and yes, friend,” he reassured him. “But Hornblower, you're a first-rate strategist and leader of men. You deserve this and you’ve more than earned it."

Hornblower took a deep breath and nodded, a small smile gracing his lips. "Well, Mr. Bush, your confidence in me shall not be misplaced. I will certainly do my best." He set his shoulders with determination.

Bush felt the smile return full force to his face and he reached forward and clapped Hornblower on the shoulder. "Of that, I have no doubt."

"Now come, tell me, how is the Renown under Cogshill?"

Bush allowed the subject change and spoke to Hornblower for the rest of the short journey about the changes Cogshill was making to the ship. When they parted again back on the quay after waiting for each other and then making the walk back together, it was with the promise that Bush would visit Hornblower aboard the Retribution as soon as possible. 

That night aboard the Renown, Bush lay in his cot, rocking to the gentle aborted sway of a ship at anchor. He wondered if he could just let Hornblower slip away without delivering Kennedy's kiss or if the promise he had made was simply one made to ease a dying man's thoughts in his final days. And although Bush was not a superstitious or religious man, he still was confident that Kennedy would figure out a way to haunt him, or worse yet, the Retribution, if he failed to deliver on his promise. 

So he devised a plan. A simple kiss. A goodbye and good luck kiss. Fair winds and a following sea, and then Bush would depart. The Navy was large and at war. Hornblower was well on his way to rising through the ranks rapidly, and as second lieutenant aboard a third rate so was Bush. The likelihood of them meeting again as officers serving on the same ship were slim. A kiss, even one that put a stop to their growing friendship, was unlikely to cause further consternation between them. 

At worst, Hornblower would never speak to Bush again, an outcome that was more than possible regardless of the kiss itself. At best, Hornblower would accept the kiss, but the Navy would ensure that Bush would never need to concern himself again with that fact. Either way, Bush would not be breaking his long held vow of never acting upon his feelings towards men.

It was a week later when he found himself aboard the Retribution, being dragged all over the ship by an excited Hornblower. He had to agree with him: it was a wonderful little ship, smartly built, with beautiful lines. He had admired it as Hornblower had sailed it to Kingston as the leader of the prize crew and had remembered feeling envious of his luck at such a ship. It would suit Hornblower well and he couldn't help but fall a little bit in love with it as he followed her new captain around from stem to stern. They ended the tour in Hornblower's cabin. It was hardly any bigger than the one he had had aboard the Renown, but the stern windows would make it bright and airy during fair weather, and for that, Bush was jealous. 

Hornblower had asked his opinion multiple times as they had inspected the ship, and their lively discussion had continued all through a simple dinner and late into the night. Bush had ordered a boat to return for him at six bells into the first watch. It was to ensure that no matter what happened, he would leave the ship and not be in danger of heartbreak or worse. 

At five bells, he began to take his leave. Hornblower's steward, an ordinary seaman who had been been assigned the extra duties, had long since cleared away dinner and left them with a bottle of brandy. Bush had drunk enough to have the courage to do what came next, but not so much he could be considered drunk. Hornblower had kept to his customary moderation of drink and had become loose-limbed and happy, but still well in control. It prevented them both from being maudlin in their goodbyes. 

Bush agreed to look up Hornblower if he ever had the chance and made a promise to himself to follow the man's career in the Chronicle meticulously. Hornblower had declared that if circumstances ever allowed it, he would be honored to serve with Bush again. 

"He would have been so proud of you," Bush said. Hornblower's smile took on a sad quirk in his lips. 

"I'd like to think so," he replied.

"I know he would have, Horatio."

"What did he say, Bush? You were with him in the end, did he say anything?"

Bush knew he had minutes left to get up top to meet his boat. To keep his promise.

"He asked me to-" Bush stopped. 

"Yes?" Hornblower prompted when he did not continue.

"He asked me to give you a kiss goodbye," Bush said, carefully.

Hornblower looked puzzled.

"He asked you to give me a kiss?"

"Not exactly." Bush stepped forward. He was dangerously close to losing not only his nerve, but control of the conversation. "He asked me to-" Bush reached up and cupped Hornblower's face gently in his hard and calloused hands. This was madness. No kiss he could bestow on Hornblower would be anything like Archie's kiss. His hands were wrong, worn, calloused, and rough. His body was wrong, powerful and full of brute strength where Archie's had been youthful and gracefully muscled. He was dark where Archie was light, except in the eyes, They both had the same shade of eye color. Bush looked into Hornblower's liquid brown eyes and closed the distance between their mouths slowly, giving Hornblower time to stop him.

Bush's lips met Hornblower's. They were soft and still under Bush's light brushing. It was still a gentle kiss. It could still mean nothing at this point. A friendly busk between friends. Perhaps more intimate than their friendship allowed for, but still, nothing worse than what might pass between two men who knew each other well saying a long goodbye. 

Bush tilted his head and pressed his lips against Hornblower's more firmly. Hornblower's hands came up to grip his arms, hard. But he didn't pull away. Didn't protest. Didn't end the kiss.

Bush's plan had been to kiss Hornblower once, firmly, step back, turn smartly from the cabin, and leave alone to board his boat and return to the Renown. However, when he started to pull back, Hornblower's hands on his arms tightened with a grip that verged on painful.

He grunted in surprise. Hornblower sucked in a hard breath through his nose and then moved his hands to Bush's face, holding him there as he returned the kiss. It was a brutal kiss. Not at all like the one Bush shared with Kennedy. This kiss was desperate, hard, and fierce. Bush's thumbs stroked at Hornblower's jaw, once, then twice in an effort to soothe him. It had the opposite effect.

The fingers that gripped Bush's jaw tightened and held him still as Hornblower pressed in harder still. The kiss was still unbroken when Bush felt the stinging bite of Hornblower's teeth in his bottom lip, then the quick soothing swipe of tongue. Something inside of him snapped and he whimpered, caught by the wave of sheer want that swept over him. 

This is a mistake, this is a mistake, oh god, what have I done, his brain screamed at him. He tried to pull back, but was caught again by Hornblower's grip. This was not Kennedy's kiss. This had never been Kennedy's kiss. 

He finally tore away and stepped back, gasping for air. Hornblower's mouth was open in shock, pupils blown wide, hands shaking where they still were suspended in air as if they were still gripping Bush's jaw. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered to the still shocked Hornblower and stumbled backwards a step directly into Hornblower's table. Then around the chair, each step fumbling after the last one as he fought to keep his feet under him. He made it to the door, eyes still locked on Hornblower's. He was supposed to have turned smartly with a smile and disappeared out the door. Instead, he felt as if Hornblower had somehow reached inside his chest and extracted his heart, that it lay there beating in Hornblower's hands. Held out to him as if to say, see Archie knew all along, he knew you'd given it to Hornblower, just as he had given his. Archie knew what you didn't, he knew that it was your heart Hornblower wanted, not his. 

Bush wasn't sure how he managed to make it up on deck, but there he was, sucking in the cool night air as the little boat from the Renown came along side just as the watch bells rang six.

"Fuck," he said to himself as he climbed over the side of the Retribution and stepped down the ladder.

"What was that, sir?" the hand called from the boat below.

"Nothing," he called in response. "That was nothing," he said softly to himself, under his breath. "It was nothing."

* * *

_ **Bush** _

William Bush went to sea when he was sixteen years old and fell in love. He was relieved that he fell in love with the gentle rocking waves, the icy spray that worked its way under his foul weather gear and soaked his skin, and the rough feel of the ropes in his hands. It was easy to commit himself, body, heart, and soul to the sea, and he did so with the desperation of a man who knew the cliff’s edge was right behind him. He desperately hoped it would be enough. 

On his first ship there was a midshipman who had failed the lieutenant's exam twice and could not find a position as a master’s mate. It had made him bitter and angry and he took it out on the boys. It had taken Bush a disturbingly long time to realize that Mr. Allen wasn’t just a bully and a brute, but was something much worse than that to poor young Mr. Blakley. Bush had always been powerfully built and strong and he had never been afraid to use his fists when he felt it necessary. So he waited until the opportunity presented itself, and then let Mr. Allen know that Mr. Blakely was not to be bothered again. 

Somehow Blakely had known who his savior was and had firmly fixed his affections on Bush, and it did not take Bush long to figure out why Allen had chosen Blakley to torment. Blakely was too stupid to not let his eyes trail over firm muscle or blush when a bit of attention was paid to him. His preferences were on full display to the gunroom and rightly or wrongly, Mr. Allen had felt that Blakely was a suitable target - easily bullied and unlikely to receive any sort of sympathy from the men. He was not suited to life aboard a ship with four hundred men.

Bush wasn't sure if it was an accident, luck, or intention when Blakely had been behind a gun, checking its aim when it fired: it had hit him in the head as it kicked back, killing him instantly. But in the end Bush supposed that death, and a quick one at that, was better than the alternative. Bush stared out to sea where they had buried Blakely from the quarterdeck, and was once again glad that he had fallen in love with the sea and was of strong enough character to resist the temptations of flesh so that he didn't end up like Blakely.

Bush fucked his first whore when he was eighteen at the first port of call his ship visited after Blakely's death. He and his fellow midshipmen were drunk on prize money and had just a little leftover when someone had figured out that Bush had never been with a woman, so they pooled what they had left, found him a semi-respectable looking one at the tavern, and sent him upstairs with enough jeers and cheers that surely the entire street knew what was about to happen. 

She was kind to him and showed him how to pleasure a woman and told him that the most important thing to know when making love was that his pleasure would come from his partner's enjoyment of the act. The advice had served him well - allowing him enough control to ensure successful whoring when the situation called for it.

After he passed his lieutenant's exam he had celebrated in the usual way - got blazing drunk and fucked a whore. But when he finally received his promotion he did something he had never done before: he fucked a man - a fellow officer he had encountered in a public house. A friendly hand that had lingered just a beat too long, a look, a glance, and then a blush had told him all he needed to know. He recognized the signs because they were exactly his own. It was discreet, quick, and quiet and he had never even gotten the man's name. That was the first and last time he had ever done so. He had tasted the forbidden fruit and he was afraid that without strict discipline to never do so again he'd never be able to stop. 

William Bush had known at fifteen that he was different than the other boys. He had no interest in the village girls. At first, he had thought it was because he had grown up in a house full of women so craving the company of other men was natural, but he heard the disdain in the vicar's voice as he had spoken about the sin of the gamekeeper's son and the footman at the big house that had been caught in the ditch together. It made his blood run hot as he thought of what it would be like to have his hands on another man's body, have another man's hands on his. Then cold as he realized what that meant should he ever be caught.

So he had sworn to himself that he would never give in to that temptation, that he would devote his life to the Navy and the sea and that he would be happy. Women held no interest for him, but whores allowed him to release a physical need, and until that one and only man, he was happy in his own way. But touching the hard flat chest, feeling the stubbled jaw, holding the heavy weight of a full prick that wasn't his own in his hand? That awakened a monster deep inside that he had thought long buried and he ran from it. He knew what happened when men fucked shipmates, and fucking mollys wasn't worth it either, so he stood on the deck of the ship and stared out at the water and told himself that she was enough for him.

And then he had stepped aboard the Renown and came face to face with Horatio Hornblower. 

Archie's friendship had made it easy to fall in love with Hornblower without even realizing what had happened. Archie had spoken the truth as only a dying man can. And Bush had against years of experience and better judgement kissed him because he couldn't kiss Hornblower. It was the second biggest mistake of his life.

Bush had passed his lieutenant's exam on his seamanship and he had, until he met Hornblower, come to believe that was all that one needed. That was all Bush needed. But Hornblower had come along with his long fingers dancing over the chart, and his calculations in his head, and his strategies and leadership and quick brain, and had turned it all upside down for Bush.

The biggest mistake of his life had come a week later when he had delivered Archie's kiss to Hornblower. Except Bush had known all along he was incapable of doing so. Just as, he suspected, Archie had known. 

He had kissed Hornblower in his cabin aboard Hornblower's ship and then fled like a coward over the side and into a boat to return to his own ship, fully intending to never see Hornblower again if he could help it.

It was a solid plan. A good plan. It all went to shit.

Bush was drunk and hiding in the alley behind a very respectable drinking establishment in Kingston. That was not part of the plan. He was halfway through his prize money and hadn't been sober for at least one full day. Hornblower had walked in and Bush had done the only thing he could think of - fled straight out the back door.

It was dark enough Bush knew he would have trouble making it back to the street and was trying to decide on the best course of action when the door he had fled out of opened and a shaft of light cut through the alley, a man stepped out and shut it again.

The scrape of the man's shoe was loud against the sounds of a raucous Kingston night. Bush thought it sounded a bit like a saw through bone. He brought the bottle he had fled with to his lips to save himself from saying something stupid, like Hello, Hornblower.

"Bush?" Hornblower saved him the trouble.

"Hello, Hornblower," he replied.

Hornblower was silent and Bush was comforted by the fact that it appeared that he didn't really have a plan either. Not like that had ever stopped him in the past. Bush debated giving him a minute, or turning and fleeing again before he had the chance to come up with one. He was still debating when Hornblower spoke again.

"I owe you an apology."

Bush snorted.

"Please, I was… I was…" Hornblower searched for the word. "Inappropriate?"

Bush could hear the question and shook his head, despite the fact that Hornblower likely couldn't see it.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said softly. "It is I who should be apologizing."

Hornblower was silent. 

"I don't want to lose your friendship, Bush," Hornblower said.

Bush felt tears prick at the back of his eyes. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. 

"I am sorry, sir," he said again. "I didn't mean to-"

"No!" Hornblower interrupted. 

Hornblower paused to collect his words and Bush stayed silent, attempting to follow what he was saying. "You will not lose my friendship over what happened, at least on my account."

Bush was just drunk enough to chuckle lowly. "See, that's the problem, Horatio," he said before he could think about it. "The problem is, I should lose your friendship over it. You have no business being friends with the likes of me. Because I liked what happened. I wanted more of it. I want it to never stop."

"William…"

"But I've spent my whole life not doing that. My whole life I've wanted to and I haven't. And then you come along and suddenly..." Bush trailed off, unsure how to put what he was feeling into words.

"William." Horatio's hand found his in the dark and clasped at his fingers. Suddenly, it didn't matter any more. 

He pulled Hornblower to him hard and Hornblower stumbled over a loose stone and fell into him. Bush took his weight with a grunt and leaned up against the wall to keep Hornblower off balance. His left hand clutched Hornblower's tight and his right gripped his bottle as he pressed his knuckles tight into Hornblower's shoulder.

"Damn you, Hornblower," he whispered just before he captured Hornblower's lips in a bruising kiss. 

Hornblower kissed back the same intensity that he had kissed Bush in his cabin aboard the Retribution. Like he wanted to consume Bush. He got an arm over Hornblower's shoulder, still gripping the bottle while Hornblower got an arm around his waist and pulled his hips up tight. Bush wondered if they were going to fuck against the wall right there in an alley in Kingston.

The door opened and a beam of light cut across the alley. A maid stepped out and tossed a pail of liquid into the alley and stepped back, closing the door. The both froze, breathing hard. 

Bush wondered if that was it, if Hornblower would see reason and stop this madness as Bush seemed wholly incapable of doing so himself. But Bush would have no reprieve, he realized, as Hornblower's lips once again crashed into his. And then suddenly he let go. He had sworn that he would never do this again, but he realized that for Hornblower, he would do anything.

He dropped the bottle he was holding and it crashed to their feet, shattering on the cobblestones, but Hornblower didn't even pause his assault. Bush tipped his head back against the wall and felt Hornblower's teeth sink into his neck. He'd have a bruise, but he didn't care. Hornblower would sail for England and Bush would wear his bruise until it faded and that would have to be enough.

The scrambled at each other, pulling, pushing, prodding. Bush got his hands into the fall of Hornblower's trousers and gripped his hard cock tight in his hands. The answering whine of pleasure made his blood sing. He wanted to make Hornblower come undone. He wanted to wreck him, right there on the stones of a narrow alley in Kingston. It was far too dirty for Bush to sink to his knees and he had no interest in a bit of back alley backgammoning so he settled for pushing their cocks together and gripping them both tight in his hand as he encouraged Hornblower to fuck his fist.

Hornblower's choked off pleading and begging drove him harder and faster and he bit and licked and kissed and tongued at his mouth desperately. He kissed at Hornblower's neck and left him an answering bruise to carry with him as a reminder. He fucked their cocks with his hand hard and fast, not wanting it to be over but not knowing any other way to cope with the sheer need that had overtaken his body. He was shocked to discover that the smothered cries he heard echoing were his as Hornblower desperately tried to swallow them down.

It was over far too soon and release did not bring the comfort or soothing of the burning inside of him that he craved. He clutched at Hornblower desperate for his touch, to feel his body against, his, to know the touch of this man. He felt the tears spill over his eyes as he fought not to sob into Hornblower's shoulder. He tried to tell himself that this was enough. That this would be enough. But he was horrified to discover that fucking someone you were in love with did not soothe your heart the way it slackened your physical urges. If anything, he burned brighter.

Hornblower made a soothing noise at him and he was surprised to feel his lips on his neck, kissing gently and carefully. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the wall behind him. He gripped Hornblower's hips tight and shuddered as his still half-hard cock brushed against Hornblower's. 

Bush cursed softly under his breath. 

"Bush, know this," Hornblower spoke softly against his neck. Bush shuddered. "Know this," he continued. "You are one of the finest officers I've ever met. I've been honored to serve with you and I would be honored to serve again. You are my friend and I value that above all. I sail on the morning tide, but I hope that this is not the last time I see you."

Bush kissed him again and then again.

"Yes, sir," he said. It was vow.

Hornblower reached down and tucked first Bush into his trousers and then himself before he stepped back. Bush's hands fell to his side.

"Right then," Hornblower said. "Fair winds, Mr. Bush."

"And following seas, sir." He answered.

Hornblower turned and walked out of the alley and into the Kingston night.

Bush watched him go.


End file.
